Undone
by LolaStark
Summary: Robb Stark may have been King in the North, of the Trident, of the Kingdom of the Vale and even of the Iron Islands, but still she hated him more than any man in all of Westeros. He had ruined her beyond repair, used up all the good in her and perhaps, because of him, she would always be undone. Post War, AU RobbxWynafryd (Manderly)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Welcome to my story. I just wanted to let you all know that this is an AU fic set 13 years after the war. Robb never betrayed the Freys and therefore was never murdered at the Red Wedding. Wynafryd Manderly is not an OC, she is a canon book character. I have added a few OC's of my own, I hope you enjoy.  
Thanks! -Lola**

**Undone**  
**By LolaStark**

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**|| Chapter One ||**

Robb Stark may have been King in the North, of the Trident, of the Kingdom of the Vale and even of the Iron Islands, but still she hated him more than any man in all of Westeros.

It was true there was a part of her, deep down in the crevice of her heart that wasn't ruined like the rest of her, that perhaps cared enough to say that 'hate' was too strong of a word. But the rest of her, the parts that mattered, hated the man.

She could see his ship from a distance, the sun setting behind it and the fierce direwolf sigil of House Stark illuminated by it as it fell. She even hated his ship and all it's pretentiousness. She watched, her eyes squinting as she struggled to see the small figures below, her men awaiting their king as she should be.

But of course she wasn't going to wait for him. She had been waiting all bloody afternoon and already he was hours later than he'd informed her. The visit itself was intrusive, in her opinion. He'd sent her a raven only three days prior informing her he wanted to pay House Manderly a royal visit on his journey home from the Vale. It was all in bad form, she'd decided. Royal visits costed more coin than she cared to part with. He also knew she wasn't the type of person who liked to be kept waiting, and yet, he'd purposely left her standing out on the docks for hours awaiting his arrival.

The bad timing of it all didn't help either.

The King had sent a letter of his condolences when the ravens, announcing her father's death, had gone out to all the high lords of Robb's dominion a few weeks prior. She thought a letter was just enough, more than enough. She would have rather he didn't acknowledge it at all if she had it her way, but His Grace would not be remiss. And therefore, he had suggested a visit to White Harbor, to swear in his new Lord in person.

Of course she was to be the Lady Regent of White Harbor until her brother came of age. Therefore any swearing to be done would be in her words, knelt at the feet of the King. The whole idea in her head was enough to make her stomach churn violently. She didn't like kneeling before men, she never had. They were all the same, always looking down at her, with smirks on their faces and a slight twinkle in their eye.

Robb Stark, the hero king, was no different than the rest in that aspect.

Everyone else liked to believe he was a man removed, a man above men. But she knew him better than anyone. He was once a young man, inspiring and brave. War had changed him, made him a harder man than he was in his youth. But it seemed that she was the only one who had noticed.

"Are you going to stand there all night or are you going to come down with me and greet our King?" a voice asked from across the room and she looked over her bare shoulder in disinterest.

Not far from her stood a very nude Cley Cerwyn, pulling on his trousers with the agility of the soldier that he once was. She watched with some interest as he then pulled his tunic over his sculpted chest and behind her eyes lingered the visions of sweat dripping down his skin as he moaned out her name with his hands on her thighs.

A small smile appeared by accident in the corner of her mouth and he'd caught it with his dark eyes, capturing her slight breach of character and smiling in return. It wasn't often she smiled for him, but he had informed her that it was something he liked and had hoped she do more often. She of course made an effort, but there was something more pleasant about the relationship they had. It didn't need smiles. It just needed sex.

"I waited long enough," she said then, hiding her smile. "Now His Grace can wait for me."

"He'll want to see you," Cley told her knowingly, tying his vest with those expert fingers of his. "You"re Lady Regent of the most important keep in his Kingdom."

"He'll see me when I'm ready," she said boredly, crossing the room so she was sitting down at her vanity, taking a brush to her now tousled hair. Her hair was longer than it ever had been, reaching down to her waist in dark brown waves. "Or would you rather I greet him like this."

In the mirror she could see Cley watching her for several moments, looking over her bare skin and all that was exposed. He wouldn't like it at all if any man were to see her like this. Cley was a jealous man despite her telling him she and him would never amount to anything more than bedfellows. She liked the way he'd look at her when she danced with other men, it was flattering. No man looked at her that way. Not at her age.

She was considered an old maid now at thirty, though she was far from a maiden. Her days of wedding plans and childbearing were nearly over. It didn't make her people respect her any less. They knew of her contribution to the war, the battles she'd helped win. Of course most of her wars were won _off_ the battlefield. She was good at suggestions, coercions, and especially manipulations. It was what made her a good negotiator. Not in a bad way, she'd been told. Everything she'd done had been for the good of the North. That's what she'd told herself then, and that was the way the stories were told now.

She'd been branded a heroine.

Which was why no one gave her glances full of pity at her empty lifestyle. No one expressed their condolences over her inability to marry someone wealthy to change her name and take her far from White Harbor to fill her with sons. She had experienced enough in her youth that she was content in her present day way of life.

"You should be there though," she said, her thoughts lingering too long as her brushing slowed and still he was watching her as he pulled on his boots. "He will want to see his friend. Take the boys with you. They've been waiting all day to see a glimpse of him."

Young Cley and Vann Cerwyn were more excited than their father to greet the King. Neither had seen him since they were too young to remember and to them, the King's visit was nothing short of perfect timing. Of course they would be impressed. She hadn't seen the King in nearly eight years and she knew he'd still be as regal and as impressive as ever. While she grew older and more homely by the day, she'd heard that Robb had only grown more handsome. But it was his curse, whilst hers was her blessing.

By the time she descended the stairs to the Great Hall, it was full of spectators both of her household and the Kings caravan. She couldn't remember the last time she had seen it so full. She stood close to the back, adjusting her dress slightly as she watched Cley laughing with Robb, his hand on his shoulder as they both shared a cup of ale. Dinner was now being served and the King would bless the food with his prayer from the gods before they would be allowed to eat.

As each of his subjects bowed their heads and fell to their knees in whispered prayer of the Old Gods, she simply watched, her arms crossed over her chest, as they all did his bidding. House Manderly had been one of the few houses in the North who didn't practice the religion of the Old Gods. She had been raised to believe in the Faith of the Seven. But she couldn't remember the last time they answered her prayers. She hadn't even whispered a blessing since the war, long before her innocence was ripped from her.

The King's words were loud over the crowd, his powerful voice projecting throughout the room as if he were standing right next to her. It seemed like a long time before heads raised and feet stood, only to take their seats at the tables and proceed to indulge in merriment.

It was then that their eyes met.

It was like a flash of something behind her eyes when their glances united. She nearly dropped the bronze goblet in her hand as the memory flashed behind her eyes and all she could see was blue, the color of every painful memory that came to mind. Blue like his eyes, rich with something subtle hidden behind his lingering gaze.

She cursed herself for looking away first.

It was in the second course of the expensive meal that she found herself feeling loose-tongued due to the wine was sipping. She felt Cley's hand on her thigh under the concealment of the table and she nearly smiled for everyone to see. She caught herself, quickly composing her slumped posture and humbly sipped out of the goblet to hide the grin of pleasure on her lips as his hand rose further up.

She managed to evade the King's glances through the third and fourth course, briefly catching his stare in the fifth but completely ignoring it through the sixth until it was time for the women to retire and leave the men to their war stories. She thought it was interesting how men loved to recount battle stories when they were all just as horrifying as the next. She'd seen the war firsthand, and it wasn't full of stories that would make anyone laugh.

In the privacy of her room she finally felt at liberty to breathe. She slipped her gown off her shoulders and released the uncomfortable strings of her corset so her lungs could fully expand. The room was quiet, save the crackling fire in the corner that would keep her warm through the harsh winter night. It had been the longest winter since her birth, and already she longed for the warmth of summer. Thirteen years she'd seen the blizzards rage through the city and the snow pile up over the houses of the villagers. For thirteen years she'd lived in the misery of winter and she could only hope that spring would soon show it's face.

The knock at her door startled her slightly and she didn't get a chance to contemplate who it was before she saw the King open the door. She didn't move from the place she stood, frozen in her boots near the fire with her robe wrapped tightly around her body. He was still dressed in his regal garb, fine fabrics sent from the Queen of Dorne reminded her briefly of summer and the fire next to her skin seemed to increase.

"Wynny," he said and she closed her eyes, turning her face from where he stood and pretending to find interest in the flames.

"You know I hate it when you call me that," was her whispered reply, trying to make out patterns in the flames that danced in the hearth and she ignored the feeling of his body heat on her back from his now close proximity.

"You always hated 'Wynafryd'_ more_ as I recall," he reminded her in a hearty chuckle that tickled the light trail of hair on the back of her neck.

"It seems it has finally grown on me," she replied, shortly and he chuckled again, though it sounded like a whisper. "I'm no longer a child."

Slowly, his calloused hands traveled over her shoulders and down her forearm until her fingers were twined in his. She would have pulled away if the heat wasn't so deliciously welcoming. She reminded herself how much she hated him, replayed the words and the memories in her mind until she could finally pull her hands from his and walk back towards the other side of the room. It was colder there, the absence of something - she told herself it was the fire - making chills appear on her skin as she shivered.

"You're still avoiding me?" he asked her but she didn't look up.

"My feelings haven't changed," she reminded him and she didn't have to see his face to know he was frowning. "If I wanted to see you, Your Grace, I would not have politely declined all of your previous invitations."

"There were many previous invitations," he said, stepping closer as his voice deepened. "And as I recall your rejections were not always so polite."

She finally looked up into his eyes, the place where it was most dangerous to look.

"Perhaps I have not made my message clear enough," she told him, her voice stern and he shook his head. "I am loyal to you, Your Grace, but you cannot punish me because I have no desire to share your company."

"And what if I want to - punish you that is?" he asked her darkly, his mouth near her ear. "You've stayed away for a long time Wynny, but the last time we stood together like this, I was receiving the same words, but a very different message."

"A lapse in judgement," she excused. "I assure you it will not happen this time."

Her voice was steadier than she would have imagined, given the fact that she could hear every intake of his breath and the tickle of his stubble against her skin. If she moved another step his mouth would be against her neck but she knew her stance was stable and steadfast. Any movement would be a fault of his.

It was several long moments, followed by his lips against her cheek, before he stepped back, pacing in front of the fireplace with his hands behind his back. She watched each step in interest. Anticipating each hit of the boot to the stone floor as he walked. It seemed that time had not changed his habits. Still he paced with all the concern on his brow as if he was holding the world on his shoulders.

"I came for several reasons, all of which I expressed to you in my letters," he told her and she nodded. "And yet I've not met the future Lord of White Harbor," he said curiously. "Where has your brother run off to?"

Wynafryd sat down at her vanity, ignoring his interested gaze as she pulled the plaits loose from her hair and brushed it slowly with her fingertips. It fell gently over her shoulders and his eyes seemed to follow each wave as they fell.

"Weylyn is in the city, with Maester Taelmon. The boy is to become Lord soon enough, therefore he must learn his city and the goods that come through the harbor. It is a very important job and he wishes to serve you well," she explained, pulling a cloth from the table and dousing it in the water bowl in front of her. She used it to wipe her face several times, removing the rouge from her cheeks and lips.

"But he didn't want to be here to greet me? Is that not his duty as well?"

"You left us waiting quite a long time," she told him bitterly without looking his way. "He had other responsibilities to tend to. I assumed my presence would do well enough."

"It does do well, your presence," he teased.

"Is there something else you wanted, Your Grace?" she asked, bored with the conversation and his insinuations. She'd heard them all before and she had no desire to hear them now. She placed the cloth down and stood with her hands on her hips. At her words he stepped closer, so close that he was looking down into her light eyes.

"You know what I want," he whispered and she could smell the wine on his breath, his lips slightly tinted from his cup. "It is the same thing I have wanted for the last fourteen years. You're feelings might have changed, but mine never have. I have never lied to you about that."

His fingers traced her jaw line as if by memory and as if by reflex she leaned towards him. It was an involuntary motion that she immediately corrected, but not before he took notice. It was the first time she had noticed the rumors were true. He had grown more handsome than the last time she saw him and it only made her hate him more.

"Gods, you're beautiful," he said as if he'd read her mind. "Has it really been so long? I was going mad without seeing you. I thought I might soon forget your face."

"I am no longer the girl I once was. Time has change me, and not for the better as it has you," she said with her eyes closed.

"Don't be modest Wynny. Or is it your vanity? Do you know your beauty has excelled so much that you just want to hear me say it? Because I will tell you a thousand times that you are beautiful. Now more than ever," he whispered as he leaned in towards her, his lips having only one target in mind.

The words were enough, she decided. She could bear no more. It was clear that her body language wasn't helping her get her message across so she tried a different tact.

"How is your _wife_?" she asked, and his soft eyes now hardened. His hand stopped stroking her face and he let it fall to his side as he sighed.

"Roslyn is well," he told her, stepping back. Her words had the desired effect. Robb may have had a weakness for her, but he was an honorable man. He didn't like to be reminded that what he was doing was still wrong despite any misgivings he might have had.

"And your daughters? Will they come for the festival?" she asked and she could tell by his expression that he was very aware of what she was doing. And so instead of frowning in disappointment as she'd expected, the corners of his mouth turned up into a sly grin.

"Yes, Cat and Fiona will be here in a few days, along with Bran and Wylla. Your sister will be most happy to see you."

"And your wife," she added as if he had forgotten.

He hadn't.

"And my wife."

"I haven't seen little Cat since she was born here. Do you remember?" she mused. "It is hard to believe it has been eight years since then. Wylla tells me both of your girls are quite older than their years might suggest. Time seems to have passed so quickly."

"And yet nothing has changed," he whispered as she turned away from him, grabbing her hand and she jerked back around.

"_Everything_ has changed!" she snapped, pulling her hand from his grasp. "Stop pretending like I've been here, waiting for you to return. _I_ was the one who left _you_, remember?"

"How could I forget?" he asked her, surprised by her outburst. "That day still haunts me."

Wynafryd was normally very composed in front of most people. There were few who saw her for what she really was, some sort of untamed fire raging out of control. Not always was it a bad fire, sometimes it was a very good type of passion she felt but other times, it was like this.

"Then why have you come?" she asked him again, this time without the pleasantries. "Have I not expressed my wishes clearly? I do not want to see you. I do not wish to feel the way I once felt. You cannot just sweep in to pick up the pieces. It is your fault I am like this, broken beyond repair, too broken for any man to fix. You _ruined_ me," she told him bitterly and he laughed angrily.

"_I_ ruined _you_?" he asked. "You are the one who turned me into this...this...whatever I am now. I used to be a good man. I used to want a marriage and children and to be dedicated and loving. But I'm not. I'm not a good person and that is _you_ are to blame for that. You _own_ me. Had you not come into my life I would not be who I am. I would not feel so overwhelmed in your presence. It is _you_ who ruined _me_."

"And every single day I wish that we had never met that day, that I had done as my father asked, that I had stayed in White Harbor," she explained, her scowl deepening. "If I'd have just done as I was told maybe we'd both be happy now. If that even exists anymore."

"But you never did as your were told. You still do not," he reminded her and she shook her head.

"And you still do not listen," she replied in a hasty whisper. "As I said, I am loyal to you, Your Grace, but _you_ no longer own_ me_."

It was as if it all happened in a flash then. One moment she thought she might slap him, the next she felt his lips crash into hers as he pushed her against the wall. Their bodies were flush against one another and Wynafryd felt a desperate feeling rising in her chest that she had spent too long trying to bury. She tried to pull away but there was nowhere to go as their mouths moved together. His hands were deliberate as they moved over body, his quickened breaths just as desperate as that feeling in her stomach.

She hated him, she reminded herself. She hated him for making her this woman, for using her and most of all for loving her. She hated him with all of her being because if it wasn't for him,she might have lived a happy life. She didn't even know what that meant, to be happy. She had suffered so long that the simple notion of happiness seemed so foreign to her.

She felt his hand part the fabric of her robe and his hand was warm on her skin and she lost all sense of any reason. This right here was the reason she hated this man. That he could touch her and make her feel completely vulnerable and controlled. She was his puppet.

Somehow she mustered up the strength to shove him off of her, leaving them both to catch their breath as their chests heaved and their glances locked. She was shaking her head because her mouth couldn't form the words she wanted. But before she could form words, another voice interrupted for her.

"Mother?" it asked and her eyes widened. She didn't tear her eyes from Robb who looked slowly towards the door where the figure had entered.

When she finally did look she saw her son looking up at the King as if he'd just said something he wasn't supposed to. Which, by happenstance, was the case in that moment. Weylyn looked at his mother apologetically when he realized he'd made the mistake of outing their secret. But she didn't scold him, only nodded slowly to ensure it was alright.

But when she looked at Robb he hadn't torn his eyes away from the boy, the boy who was her son. There was a painful expression in his eyes and Wynafryd felt something inside of her crumble.

Weylyn Manderly had been raised as the only son of Wylis Manderly, raised to be the heir of White Harbor and therefore raised as Wynafryd's younger brother. Everyone in the North knew of Wylis' joy when his son was born. But the fact of the matter was, it was all a lie. Everyone in the household knew the boy was her son, and Weylyn was forbidden to call her 'mother' unless they were in private.

Unlike now.

"It is alright," she whispered, summoning him to her side as she adjusted her robe to be sure she was decent.

He walked slowly towards her, looking up at Robb with a curious expression and it was clear her secret was soon to be ruined. He stood at her side and she grabbed his hand in hers. He was tall for his age but still small enough that his hand find nicely in hers. She dreaded the day he would be too old to love her the way he did now.

"Wynafryd," the King said then, his tone dark and his voice struggling to steady itself as he stared at the boy. "What is this?"

"Your Grace, this is Lord Weylyn Manderly, heir to White Harbor," she began to explain but he was shaking his head.

"No, do not lie to me, who is this boy?"

"I am Weylyn Manderly," Weylyn replied. "Your Grace." he added as if it were a question and he looked up at his mother for confirmation that this man before them was the King. She nodded once in affirmation.

"Wey, I thought you were going to stay in the city tonight?" she asked and he diverted his eyes.

"Maester Taelmon was feeling ill," Weylyn explained. "I thought it best that he return to the castle before his condition worsened. There is a strong blizzard coming in from the North and the city is no place for him. The inns were filled with the people come to see the King."

"I see," she replied absently, not daring to look up the King who was still standing in disbelief.

Robb was quick then, walking towards her and grabbing her arm with a furious expression on his brow.

"Wynny you tell me who this boy is right now or-" he started to say but was stopped short as a sword found it's way under his chin.

Both she and Robb looked to see that it was Weylyn with a frown on his lips and a heaving chest who had pulled the sword out and now held it to the King's throat. Had there been guards in the room Weylyn would be face first into the stone floor of the room. But they were completely alone, Robb had seen to that when he'd entered her rooms not long before.

"Weylyn," she said softly and poised. "You ought not raise your sword to the King."

"Then the King ought not put his hands on my mother," Weylyn replied without budging, scowling at the man who held his mother by the upper part of her arm.

Robb let go then, slowly lowering his hand until it was by his side. It wasn't until his hand still and he had stepped back slightly that Weylyn lowered his sword, still glaring up the King with bitter eyes. Robb looked from Wynafryd to Weylyn and back for several moments before he walked out of the room. Leaving her alone with her son.

It wasn't until the door had closed behind him that she finally felt as though she could breath once more. It had been like she had held her breath the entire time he'd been in the room and now she could finally feel her reason returning to her. She walked over to the bed, fully aware that Weylyn was watching her curiously, and she sat down, leaning her back up against the headboard and staring across the room to where the fire crackled loudly.

When she had counted twelve full breaths she felt the bed move and Weylyn crawled in by her side. He sat across from her, looking at her with that curious glance she had always hoped to avoid seeing. But it was there, and no longer could she ignore it. She sighed, smiling as she opened her arms and he moved so he was sitting in front of her, his back against her chest and she wrapped her arms around him.

"You are a brave young man," she whispered proudly and she saw a hint of smile on his lips as she spoke.

"I didn't like the way he touched you," he replied and Wynafryd nodded.

"He was only confused, darling," she explained. "And you really shouldn't raise your sword to him again. Next time it could be his guards watching and you would not be spared a moment for explanation."

"King or not, he has no right to touch you that way," Weylyn said, his voice lowered, understanding the importance of her words. She could only nod in reply. "Mother?" he asked then and the sound in his voice was like a knife in her heart.

"Yes?" she asked, her hands beginning to shake. He placed his hands on hers, steadying them.

"That man, the King-" he started, looking down at their hands. "He is-"

It was as if he couldn't speak, as if the question was as hard as the answer she would have to give. They had discussed it only once, only once had she had this conversation with her son when he was young and wide-eyed. Now as he looked up at her, his blue eyes sparkling in the firelight she couldn't help but feel that sense of dread rising.

"He is my father, isn't he?" he finally asked and Wynafryd felt her throat swell.

She felt the sudden urge to hold him then, like when he was a young boy. She pulled him close to her chest and kissed his dark hair, brushing the curls from his face.

"Yes, love," she said in a strangled voice. "Robb Stark is your father."

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**A/N: So this is just a random story I have had in my head for the last few weeks. I'm hoping for some good feedback to see if you guys like it as much as I do. I will hopefully work on this alongside Savages which I have not given up on at all. But I did feel that if I didn't start writing this story, I might never get my mind off of it and back to the other story. Anyways. Let me know what you think. There is lots to come, lots of drama and lots of history. Thanks for reading -xoLola**


	2. Chapter 2

**Undone**  
**By LolaStark**

**A/N: Just wanted to take a second to thank all the people who said kind things about the first chapter. Thanks for taking the time to review. I also wanted to clarify something for one of the reviewers and anyone else who might have been confused: Bran is not Robb's son, he's still his brother. Wylla is Wynny's sister and she is married to Bran. They live at Winterfell which is the seat of Robb's kingdoms. He only has 2 children, both are girls. Of course - he also has a bastard son now, so that's gonna change things as well. Hope that clears it up, sorry if that confused anyone.**

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**|| Chapter Two ||**

Hiding from Robb Stark had not worked out entirely as she had expected.

She thought she'd find some nook in the castle and wait out the day until supper. She had responsibilities to take care of, including things that bored her to tears like picking out fabrics for Wylla's new gowns. Her sister and her husband, Bran Stark, would arrive soon, along with the rest of the royal family. She hadn't seen her in nearly two years since Wylla's wedding and she knew her younger sister would adore some comforts from home.

She had found such a nook, in the east wing of castle that overlooked the bay that looked out on the Bite. Of course the blizzard made peering out the window quite pointless as sheets of white passed by all morning and long into the afternoon. She had written twelve letters to various merchants in the city who would help her provide for the King's family when they arrived, all before the tailor arrived with the new fabrics.

She had been mixing and matching for nearly an hour when the door opened. She hadn't expected the King to find her so soon, but still didn't look as he walked in. Travers, her personal tailor, bowed towards him with an eager smile. She didn't budge nor did she bother to bow, remember she had a slight pain in her side from her time with Cley earlier that morning.

"Please, may I have the room?" Robb asked and Travers quickly nodded and gathered up his things before leaving the two alone, much to her disappointment. She didn't take her eyes off of the two fabrics she held up, eyeing the patterns with her expert eye. For several moments the room was void of all noise except the sounds of Robb's pacing on the stone floor. But when he finally did speak she didn't look up.

"When were you going to tell me?" he asked her with a tone she knew well from years passed. "Or were you even going to tell me at all?"

"Honestly, Your Grace, I had not planned to, no," she replied, placing down the aqua colored fabric and picking up the grey one in her hands, tracing the outlines of the direwolf on the fabric that would eventually be Wylla's sleeves.

"And why not?" he asked then. She could hear that his temper was rising. She tried to remember the times in their youth when Robb would speak to her softly but then pushed those images from her mind when she thought better of it. "He is my son, you cannot tell me he is not."

"No, I cannot." she admitted boredly and he grabbed her arm gently and turning her to face him.

She looked up into his eyes, blue looked back at her. She knew what he wanted but she wasn't prepared - nor was she willing - to give it to him. He wanted something she could no longer give, that she had given up a long time ago.

"Am I supposed to apologize?" she asked him, frowning. "Do you wish me to tell you how sorry I am from depriving you of a bastard."

"He is my son and you kept him from me," he replied angrily. "My son. This is not just some simple secret you held from me Wynny. This is our child we're talking about."

He was hurt and angry, all of the emotions playing up in those eyes of his but Wynafryd couldn't let herself be ashamed of what she had done. She had her reasons and none of them were particularly honorable. But she would not be ashamed of giving her son a name, of raising him in her home.

"Give your wife a son in that belly of hers," she hissed, snatching her arm back. "You cannot have _mine_."

"He is mine as well," he said lowly, his voice no higher than a whisper and for that she was grateful. With the Robb's servants running all over her castle, there was no telling whose ears might be pressed to the doors.

"Weylyn is a _Manderly_ now, he is heir of White Harbor not a Prince of Winterfell," she said bitterly.

"That was not your decision to make," he whispered, stepping closer. "I loved you, a love that still burns through my veins every moment of my being, even now. It was you I wanted to marry, to have as my wife - my queen. Weylyn could have been ours. Could have had both of his parents. You left me that day knowing that you were taking our son."

"He _did_ have both parents. My father loved him like a son, my mother as well. And marrying you, Your Grace, was not an option. You know that. You were meant to be king. But I was never meant to be queen. Wey is happy here, happy with his life." She could see he didn't like her answer by the way his jaw clenched and his eyes looked away. "And - I did not know I was pregnant when I left you that day."

"He may have had both parents to raise him, but he did not have me. And I did not have him," was Robb's quiet reply and though his eyes did not look up to meet hers she could see the sincerity and hurt in them.

"I did what was best," she found herself saying. "For all of us. I saved him from a life of humiliation."

She had told herself dozens of times that she did not have to explain her motives to him should this conversation ever take place. And yet, the look in his eye made her feel as though she had to justify herself. That angered her more than anything.

"You cannot keep him from me," he said, finally looking up at her and she frowned.

"Is that a command?" she asked bitterly and he shook his head slowly.

"Why am I being painted the villain? What have I done to make you hate me so?" he asked and she looked away. "All I meant was that Weylyn is my son too. You cannot mean to deprive me of him forever."

"I mean to keep him from a life of misery," she said seriously. "People that love you, people that care for you, they always end up hurt and discarded."

"Don't you dare. I did not discard you Wynny," he said, his voice raising. "You are the one who left me. Do not make this into something that was my fault."

"It is your fault," she told him, her fist clenching around the fine fabric in her hand that was now wrinkled. "It is your fault that I fell in love with you, that I came home with your son and had to beg my father to pretend Weylyn belonged to him and my mother. It is your fault I had to explain to my son why he could not call me 'mother'. If it weren't for you, he could be a normal child. Which is why I was not planning to tell you." The words started pouring from her lips then. "I purposely sent him to the city yesterday, hoping he'd stay long enough that you'd never see him."

Robb's eyes were cold then and she could see that he was angered by her words. They were harsh but true, at least in her mind. Robb had been the cause of her misery and it was a misery she did not want for Weylyn. Perhaps she had been wrong to lie to him, to pretend Robb did not have a beautiful son with his eyes and his spirit. But Wynafryd knew there were consequences to being a bastard, especially the bastard son of a king. She had done her duty to her king by keeping this secret but no amount of her explanations would make it okay for Robb. To him, she had robbed him of thirteen years with the boy who was his son, right now his only son to an heirless throne.

"You thought no one would notice? You thought he could go his whole life without someone noticing?" he asked her curiously.

"It would not matter. My father claimed him as his."

"And yet I look at him and I see a Stark," Robb insisted. "He will soon be a man and you think people won't start to ask questions? Or perhaps it will be Weylyn who decides he wants his father in his life."

"He would do no such thing," Wynafryd said, waving off Robb's hypotheticals.

"Wouldn't he?" He asked her then. "What did you tell him? When he asked about me - what did you say? What lies did you conjure up?"

"Now who is painting who as the villain?" she sneered and he shook his head.

"What did you say?"

"I told him the truth, that he was a bastard," she admitted. "I told him he could not know his father, that it was dangerous."

"Dangerous?" Robb asked angrily.

"Yes, dangerous," she replied. "Do you know how many enemies you have, Your Grace? Your kingdom is still new, people still plot to overthrow your rein. You think Stannis Baratheon would not jump at the chance to have Weylyn to barter with?"

"I have Stannis under control," he said offhandedly. "The man wants only his kingdom to rule. He wants peace. There is nothing of mine that he wants."

"I'm sure he has told you that himself," she said, rolling her eyes and returning to her fabrics.

"I would protect him. Weylyn would be safe," he said and Wynafryd laughed.

"And I'm sure you're wife would love that," she said in a tone that even she thought was nastier than it should have been. But she couldn't help the way she felt then, the anger rising up within her. "And I suppose I would just slink off in the background, let you have your happy family and never see my son again."

"Just as you planned to do with me?" Robb countered. "Do you honestly expect that I should pretend I'd never met him, that I am not father to a son who ought to bear the name Stark, as is his birthright."

"Bastards do not have birthrights, Your Grace."

He stared at her for several moments, knowing she was right.

"This one would," he replied and her eyes widened. "I could do it, you know. I could claim him, give him his rightful place as my heir and you'd have no say. I could bring him to Winterfell, forbid you from seeing him-"

"He would hate you," she told him, angry at the thought.

"But I wouldn't do that," he finished. "Because as desperate as you are to contort me into this evil man, Wynny, I am not that person. I may not be that man you fell in love with but I am not a bad man. I would never rip him from you because I would lose both of you-"

"You lost me a long time ago, Your Gr-"

"Enough!" he shouted, pulling her towards him roughly, his voice echoing in the room. "Enough," he repeated, this time in a whispered, his hands pulling her waist against him until their bodies were flush. "Stop this madness. Stop pretending that I forced you to leave, that I hurt you. Damnit Wynny all I wanted was your happiness. I would have given up everything - everything - for you."

Her eyes searched his, as she looked up at him, her chest heaving as she tried to form words, tried to concentrate on anything other that what he was saying but she couldn't. Suddenly she was seventeen and he was eighteen, and they were standing just like this, him begging her not to go. She had not known at the time that she was carrying Robb's son. Perhaps it would have made a difference in her choice, perhaps not.

She had never before seen a man cry the way he did that day and it was then that her heart had broken beyond repair. He had broken her heart by loving her so fiercely. The memory had once been placed in the deepest part of her, away from her mind so she could move on with her life and now it was clear in her mind.

It was snowing that night, not as roughly as it was now, but a light snow, the type of snow that hung in the air like a feather floating softly to the ground. He held her tightly against him, his forehead against hers as tears fell down both of their cheeks. Her throat ached as she kept herself from sobbing in his arms, conceding to him as he begged her not to leave.

He was betrothed then, he'd been betrothed for over a year and his heart was not free to give. She could not willingly destroy a pact that would bring down everything. She would not singlehandedly destroy everything he'd built. He was meant for more and she refused to allow him to throw that away to be with her. The war, his kingship, it was greater than them. And she could not be selfish. Not when it came to Robb Stark.

"_Do not_," he had begged her in a strangled whisper that night. "_Do not leave me, I command you not to leave me._"

But she'd left him. She'd left him that night and had never since thought of that painful goodbye, until now.

"What happened to us?" he whispered now, this present day Robb, his mouth against her forehead and Wynafryd closed her eyes, doing her best to ignore the feeling rising in her stomach, or the way his stubble felt against her cheek. The smell of his skin was something she'd once memorized and now it brought forth all the feelings she'd much rather ignore. "What did I do that made you fall out of love with me?"

"You stopped being the man I fell in love with," she whispered. It wasn't completely true, but it was part of the reason. All the reasons which added up to how she came to hate him, this man that held her like he would hold his lover. And she let him, despite the protesting her mind was doing. "When I met you-" she paused, feeling the urge to say his name but she stopped herself. "When I met you, Your Grace," she said. "You fought for something you believed in, and I believed in you. You built something we all could believe in. And when you said you throw that all away, just to be with me-" she shook her head. "That wasn't the man I loved. You were meant for more than that."

He seemed to be taking in her words for several moments and she took the time to pull away from him and compose her now unsteady hands. She pretended to busy herself with hanging the fabrics as he stood there watching her and she could feel his eyes on her. She didn't dare look back at him, for fear that something in her eyes would tell him something her words weren't. She thought for a moment that he might say something when suddenly there was a knock at the door.

"Enter," she said, despite that it wasn't her place. It was Robb's place as king.

The door opened and neither looked up to see Cley walking in, looking at both of them curiously. Wynafryd hung the last of the fabrics that she thought would suit the dresses best. It wouldn't take long for tailor to get the dresses ready and Wylla would be excited for a fitting once she arrived.

"Your Grace," Cley said carefully. "The caravan has just arrived. The Queen waits below."

"Thank you," Robb replied, glancing only briefly at Cley. "I'll be there shortly."

Cley looked again at both of them for a long moment before nodding and closing the door behind him. Once left alone Robb made his way towards her, slow steps that echoed off the stone floor until they were right behind her.

"She's going to see him," he whispered and Wynafryd knew she meant Roslyn. "She'll take one look at the boy and know he's mine."

"And she won't say a word about it," she whispered back, uninterested. "Roslyn is a smart woman."

Robb didn't stay long before heading out the door, following the stairwell down to the hall where Roslyn would be waiting for her husband.

It had been eight years since she'd seen her and Wynafryd had nearly forgotten how cold their encounters usually were. Roslyn had always been a quiet woman, saying only the right things as the right time. But from Robb's letters it seemed as though she was not the docile little dove that she had always seemed to be. There was no doubt that she knew about Wynafryd's past with Robb. The queen had always been particularly able to pick up on Robb's longing glances unlike everyone else. For that reason the two women never seemed to get on very well.

Wynafryd didn't make her way to the hall before supper, letting Weylyn do his duty as Lord of White Harbor and greeting the royal family. Her presence wouldn't be entirely missed, she thought. Besides, it took her some time to finally push her memories from her mind. Over and over they played until she forced them away, conjuring other - more recent- memories to mind instead.

By the time she did enter the hall, dinner was being served. The head table held only a small party, the royal family and Weylyn at the opposite head as Robb. She paused for a moment, taking in the sight and feeling a tug at her heart when she saw him laughing at something Robb had said. Robb, Catelyn, Rickon, Weylyn, Roslyn, Catrina, Fiona, Wylla, and finally Bran sitting together like a family. It didn't sit right, she thought.

No one seemed to notice her presence until Robb caught her eye and stood from his place at the table. It wasn't necessary. Wynafryd was a lady of House Manderly, Lady Regent of White Harbor, but she was still the lowest in station than anyone else at the table. But everyone else seemed to follow suit, even Roslyn who looked up at her with a false grin upon her pink lips.

"Wyn!" Wylla said excitedly, running over to her and engulfing her in a hug.

Wynafryd coudln't help but smile as her younger sister's arms squeezed her. She pulled back to take in her sister's young features and delighted that she finally looked more like a woman than a child. Her long blond hair had a healthy glow, as did her fair skin and Wynafryd kissed her cheek lightly, grabbing the girl's hands in her own.

"You look stunning, sister," she told Wylla who blushed prettily.

"Oh I've missed you," she whispered as she hugged her once more and then lead her over towards the table where she sat back down next to her husband, leaving the empty chair to her left for Wynafryd.

It had been many years, so many in fact that Wynafryd had lost count, since the last time she saw her sister smile the way she was now. Things, for a while, had been rather cold between them, Wylla blaming her for her misery at Winterfell. Wynafryd had been the one to negotiate a wedding between their families and Wylla had been devastated when she found out she was to marry a cripple. Since then all she heard was Wylla's disdain for her miserable life as a motherless caretaker to her husband. All Wylla had ever wanted was children. And Wynafryd had been the one to deprive her of that.

"His Grace was just recounting stories of the war," Weylyn said as she sat down by his side and she smiled.

"Oh?" she said in mock curiosity. "And which story is our King boring us with this evening?" The table laughed, knowing her sense of humor was not intended to insult, but to bring about a light atmosphere as was her usual demeanor. While Wynafryd didn't like to smile very often, she loved to make other people laugh.

"Would you call the story of your sister fighting a horde of giants, boring?" Robb asked Weylyn who grinned but she only rolled her eyes.

"You fought a giant Wynny?" Weylyn asked and the nickname caused Robb to raise an eyebrow, curiously. It was true she had told Robb not to call her that, not that he had listened of course. But since Weylyn was a child she had made it clear he was not to call her mother in public. Wynny became his nature fallback and each time he said it she was reminded of his father.

"Honestly, it was one giant, and we did not fight. I simply convinced him that killing you, Your Grace, was a poor idea," she replied and he shook his head.

"But the story is so much more interesting when you fight him rather than talk at the poor thing. He probably gave up because you talked him to death," Robb replied and she nearly smiled at his joke. Wynafryd loved to talk and she found her skill at reasoning, while often a bore to many of her friends, was a skill that saved her arse many times over.

"I thought that giants only spoke the Old Tongue," Little Cat said with her eyes bright. The child was beautiful, with bright auburn hair that seemed to glow from the candlelit hall.

"Wynafryd speaks several languages," Wylla informed the young girl with a smile. "She spent years learning because she thought it would make her more well-rounded. I always thought she was such a bore then."

"Turns out there aren't many people to speak the Old Tongue to when you live in Westeros," Wynafryd added and the child laughed.

"Except the giant," Robb reminded her and she nodded.

"How ever did you come across a giant, Robb?" Catelyn asked and for the first time Wynafryd noticed how much the older woman had aged. Still she held an air of grace that she always had and Wynafryd still admired the woman for all that she had done.

"His Grace is quite clumsy when it comes to sneaking around the forests,"Wynafryd said, hearing Weylyn chuckle slightly. "When Lord Umber was kidnapped by wildlings near the Wall, I set out immediately to negotiate his surrender. I would have had the Greatjon by sundown had His Grace not been stomping around the forest after me."

"You ran off on your own. You would have been captured as well," Robb protested but she waved him off.

"I was nearly at their camp when I heard him rustling in the bushes. He got us discovered by one of those fury giants that pulled our king off the ground by his ankles," she continued, ignoring Robb's interjections as she glanced down at her son who seemed to be enjoying the recounting of her adventures. "It took me a full minute or two to realize the great beast was yelling at me in the Old Tongue. Luckily for His Grace, the giant was rather intrigued by my use of his language and I was able to convince him that Robb was a wildling in disguise as a Northman."

"Giants aren't exactly the brightest of creatures," Bran added with a laugh.

"So how did you escape?" Weylyn asked and she looked up at Robb.

"It took four days of negotiations and being tossed into a cage before he started to believe her," Robb explained. "They were trying to starve us out."

"Did you get Lord Umber back?" Weylyn asked and she nodded.

"The great brute was, of all things, drunk when he found him, teaching the wildlings songs. I was half expecting him to be passed out and starved but no. He made it quite difficult for us on our way out with all that singing. We were nearly caught trying to drag him out of there," she explained.

For the rest of dinner Weylyn continued to ask about stories of his mother. Wynafryd did her best to divert the conversation when Robb would spend too much time talking about some of their adventures and she made sure that her eye contact with the man was minimal.

The hour was late when she announced that she was too tired to continue talking, feigning a yawn and covering it with the back of her hand. Weylyn followed, chatting unceasingly about her facing off with a giant and how brave she must have been. He had more questions that she could answer before she reached her rooms and when they were stopped outside her door she looked down at her son, for the first time realizing how tall he was now. She stroked back his hair and kissed his forehead.

"Mother," he whispered, and out of habit she looked around to be sure he wasn't overheard.

"Yes, my love?" she whispered, pushing back a curl that hung over his forehead in a way that reminded her greatly of another head of dark curls she once used to toy with and she stopped.

"Will you tell me more stories of him?" he asked and she didn't have to ask him who 'he' was. She sighed, feeling all at once guilty for the thirteen years she had deprived the child of and she did her best to remind herself of the reason why.

"Not tonight," she said finally and he looked down disappointedly. "But," she said lifting his chin so he was looking up at her with his sea blue eyes. "Tomorrow I will tell you anything you want to know. I promise."

He nodded then and kissed her cheek, leaving her there to watch him as he walked quickly back down the stairwell that would lead him to the Great Hall where his father would no doubt be awaiting his presence.

She didn't like it, the thought of them spending so much time together. But it was only for a few more days, she reminded herself. She knew that Weylyn would be curious about his father, it was only natural and she had postponed that curiosity long enough for her own selfish motives. The time she had always dreaded had finally come and nothing would slow it.

She was alone in her room for only a few moments before she heard many of the other women retiring, their footsteps and girlish laughter filling the corridors. Robb's daughters, the precious girls, were most likely asleep in the arms of their maids to be placed in silk nightgowns and then large beds that Wynafryd had seen to herself to assure their comfort.

Wynafryd was soon in her own nightgown as she blew out several of her candles, leaving only a few scattered in the large room, with light enough that she could see her nightgown that she slipped over her now nude body. Her corset and gown were discarded delicately in the corner where she normally dressed.

She crawled on top of her bed, feeling the placement of new furs that were soft against her skin, and warm from the fire than had been burning in her fireplace. She knew Robb would have brought them from the capital. He always sent her furs, regardless of her requesting he not do so. But it so happened that Winterfell procured the best furs, finest in the trade, since opening up trade routes beyond the Wall. Most of the furs that came through White Harbor's port were shorter and thinner. These were from the Land of Always Winter, she had been told, and the thick furs really did warm her bones when the wind came rushing through the cracks of the old castle in the coldest part of the night.

She decided would thank him tomorrow, maybe.

Wynafryd was scribbling a few things down on the blank page of the book in front of her as she sat on her side, enjoying the feel of the fire's warmth on her feet. Her toes seemed to be finally thawing when she heard her door open slowly and then close again quickly. She didn't look up from her writing, only scribbled a few more words before blowing on the wet ink and then setting it aside.

The hands that then rested on her exposed shoulders didn't cause her to jump but put her at ease. She rolled onto her back where she saw Cley's dark eyes looking down at her and she nearly smiled.

"You look tired," he whispered, kissing the flesh of her neck and then her lips.

"Is that a polite way of saying that I look dreadful?" she teased but he only laughed, continuing to place kisses along the bare skin of her body in a trail that lead to the place that caused her to raise her hips involuntarily as she gasped in pleasure.

"You, my dear, do not look the least bit dreadful," he whispered against her thigh, nipping the skin lightly as he did so.

They spent much of the night sharing kisses and trading moans of pleasure between touches and glances. Both were out of breath as they lay atop the thick furs. For the first time that day she felt a little too warm with Cley's damp skin pressed against hers as she lay there with her head on his chest. It wasn't a position she liked, but he often held her there when they were finished doing what they did best and she would humor him for a short time before sitting up and leaving him to his thoughts.

"Did the King tell you his news," he asked, his voice soft against her face and his fingers tracing patterns along her skin.

"What news?" she asked as she looked up at him.

"I thought he might have told you, he was with you a long time while you were organizing your fabrics," he told her and she shrugged. "I thought you two might have been arguing over it by the way I found you both this evening."

"He can be rather ill-humored when I joke about things he dislikes," she said simply and he seemed to believe her words more easily than she'd expected. "But no, he did not share with me any news."

"Well, he may want to tell you himself then," he said thoughtfully and she frowned.

"I'm not going to beg you Cley," she said boredly. "Either tell me or don't."

She sat up then, not bothering to pull the blanket over her skin as she stood and grabbed her forgotten nightgown from the floor. She pulled it over her head and let the thin fabric rest over her warm skin as she sought out the horn of wine that sat on the table nearby. She could feel his eyes watching her but she didn't bother to glance back at him. She just let him think his eyes were free to roam.

"He's going abroad, in a month's time," he said and Wynafryd paused her sip of wine for a moment to take in what he had said.

"What do you mean, he's going abroad?" she asked, looking over her shoulder. "As in he's going to treat with Stannis or the Martells?" Cley smiled.

"No, he's going to Essos," he replied and her eyes widened.

"Whatever for?" she asked quickly. "Essos is no place for him, that's Targaryen land."

"Not the Free Cities," he reminded her. "They still remain neutral and His Grace wishes to persuade them to commit their loyalties to us."

"And how, might I ask, does he plan to do that?" she questioned, placing her wine down as she tied up the strings of the nightgown as she attempted to distract from her outrage.

"How else does one combine kingdoms?"

Of course, she thought. Marriage.

"Does he plan to marry off both of his daughters then?" he asked and Cley shrugged.

"He wouldn't say much about who he was planning to marry off. He did say he would discuss it with you though, that much was clear. You did so well in the King's betrothal, then Bran's," Cley reminded her but she did not need reminding. She didn't need to be reminded that she had a hand in Robb's current state of misery nor her sister's. She had been a poor matchmaker when it came to the happiness of the bride and groom, but the kingdom had thrived from it. And sometimes, that was all that mattered. She often reminded herself of that.

"And when was he planning on discussing this with me?"

Cley was standing now as well, not bothering to cover himself as he walked across the room and grabbed a horn of wine for himself. He shrugged as he gulped back the liquid and she sighed in frustration. She found herself grabbing her robe that hung from the partition in the corner and walking out the door, despite Cley's protests.

The corridor was cold, lit only slightly by a sparse few torches hanging on the wall. The cold stone on her bare feet was painful, like small needles piercing the flesh as she walked and she suddenly longed for the warmth of the fire in it's place. But her annoyance was too strong to ignore and she carried on her way, following the maze of hallways until she reached the large room that had once belonged to her parents.

The doors were a dark wood, engraved with the sigil of House Manderly, the large merman holding the dangerous looking trident in his hands. The handles were made of silver, the metal her father had always liked that adorned many of the doorways in the castle. There, posted at either side of the grand door, were four of Robb's men, his guards that stood at their posts until the early hours of the morning.

It would be a few hours until the sun rose and Wynafryd had planned to spend the winter morning in bed, wrapped in her new furs. But now that she had heard Robb's news, she was certain she would get no rest tonight. The guards looked down at her curiously as she stood before them. She looked at their knowing glances, the same faces she had known all those years ago. Cley had once been a Kingsguard, but had asked for new placement soon after he met his late wife.

"Milady," Smalljon Umber said and she didn't bother with pleasantries or smiles, she simply glanced around at the four men, four men she knew as well as her own family. Smalljon was a contrary to his name. The man was as large as his father and had every bit of his strength as well.

Patrek Mallister was a handsome, but slightly vain, man who Robb had met through his Uncle Edmure. She'd trust him with her life if it didn't cost him his own in the process. He often told stories of the old days, the days of the war and their defeat of nearly the entire Lannister House. Many of his stories involved his own contribution in those battles, which, at the time, was very little.

Robin Flint had once proposed to her marriage, much to Robb's dismay. He had at once disapproved of the match and Robin had been placed on the Kingsguard, a place that required him to be an unmarried soldier at the King's disposal. That had been a long time ago and one of the rarer occasions that had made her smile.

And then of course there was Olyvar Frey, the only man of House Frey that she dared trust. He had been loyal to Robb at every turn, even when House Frey had once threatened to pull out of support of the North. Olyvar stood steadfast at Robb's side. He was also the only one of Robb's men who knew of her past with the King. And she would continue to trust him with that secret to his grave.

None of them tried to stop her as she approached, and in fact, it was Olyvar who opened the door for her before she even asked and she nodded her appreciation as she stepped through to passageway and into the dimly lit room. It only took her a moment to find Robb, who was busying himself at the desk by the window with a quill in one hand and a goblet in the other.

Grey Wind, the great Direwolf she had known in her youth, was sitting near Robb's feet, looking more grey than his name. The beast barely lifted his head before spotting her and it seemed he contemplated whether or not to stand before instead giving into his desire for sleep and closed his eyes, resting his head on his paws in the manner she had previously found him.

Robb looked up to see her walking towards him and she welcomed the warmth of the room on her cold skin, stopping by the fire to take in all the heat that she could muster.

"Your Grace," she said with a slight bow of her head and she smiled slightly, his eyes tired as he looked up at her.

"My Lady," he replied, standing and then walking towards her. He didn't stop until he was right before her and he grabbed her hand in his, placing his lips gently against the flesh. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"It's not a pleasure, Your Grace," she whispered, pulling her hand back to her side. "I'd much prefer to be sleeping in the warmth of my bed rather than -"

"You got the furs I sent you then?" he asked her with a charming smile and she frowned.

"-rather than hearing that you are planning to marry your daughters to a savage of Essos," she finished, ignoring his interruption. He frowned then, looking down at her robe and then back into her eyes.

"So the whispers are true," he replied, his tone cold. "Cley Cerwyn shares your bed."

"What concern is that of yours?" she asked him and she could see he was surprised that she hadn't tried to contradict him.

"When I share private information with my men, I do not expect them to share them with the women they take to bed."

"It would seem that _I_ am the one taking _him_ to bed, Your Grace," she corrected in an attempt at a ill-humored joke but he didn't smile.

"What in Seven Hells are you doing with Cley? Do you plan to marry?" he asked quickly, turning his head as if he didn't want to answer after all. She gave him one of her rare hearty laughs as her response.

"Marry?" she said through her laughter. "Certainly not. He may think more of our arrangement than it is, but I have always been perfectly clear that I harbor no feelings for him, not in that way at least."

Robb didn't seem to like her response, but she could see that he was somewhat relieved that she wasn't planning to marry Cley and that annoyed her. If she wanted to marry, which she didn't, she certainly didn't require his permission. Officially, perhaps, but she would not ask him for his blessing if she were to marry a man of her choosing. Because when it came down to it, he would never give it.

"He said you were going to tell me anyways," she said offhandedly. "So don't get any ideas about punishing him. He lives to please you."

"Clearly he lives to please you," he muttered bitterly and she laughed again.

"I knew you had a sense of humor in there somewhere, Your Grace," she said knowing full well that he was in no way amused. She then grabbed one of the furs from his bed and wrapped it around her shoulders.

"Still not sharing a bed with your wife?" she asked him and hid his annoyed glare with the goblet as he took a sip from it. "A shame, for I did have this room picked out for the both of you. It is sad that such a fine bed must go to waste."

He swallowed the wine, hard and glanced over the brim of the goblet with a sly grin.

"Do not tempt me Wynny, or perhaps I will have you in this bed, and it will not go to waste after all," he warned and she turned her head to cover the blush on her cheeks.

"Are you truly planning to marry your daughters off to some Braavosi savage?" she asked without looking at him.

"Certainly not," he said as if he were insulted. "I would think after so long together I would have learned better from you. I do not want some Braavosi man trying to claim the North."

She had warned him many years ago that combining kingdoms should only be done through the marriage of his male line. Any female heirs he would have would only be cause for an Essos king to try and usurp his throne. Apparently he had listened. For once.

"Then what is your plan?" she asked him. "Cley said you wished to discuss it with me."

"There was no need," he said then, placing his goblet on the table and sitting down in the large chair before the fire. "I already spoke to Lord Manderly."

She raised an eyebrow as he spoke and walked towards where he was now sitting, craning her head over the chair to see his expression.

"What do you mean, you '_spoke with Lord Manderly'_?"

"I mean that I spoke with Weylyn and he has agreed to accompany me to the Free Cities to choose a bride for Rickon and himself."

She could barely control the rage and confusion that simultaneously arose within her in that moment and she let the fur fall to the floor as she rounded the chair and placed her hands on either side of him, her fingers wrapping tightly around the arms of the chair.

"You did_ what_?!"

"Don't look so surprised, Wynny," he said nonchalantly. "If he is half the matchmaker his mother is then he will do a wonderful job of bringing peace to our kingdoms. Perhaps an unhappy marriage, but what is that compared to duty and honor?"

His words were full of bitterness.

"You cannot do this," she hissed angrily, and he slid a hand over her hip, pulling her into him so that their faces were inches apart. The only thing keeping their chests from becoming flush with one another was her hands that she used to catch herself and were now pushing slightly against his chest, her fingertips against the flesh that peeked out from his tunic.

"I thought I made it very clear what I could and would do." he whispered and the scene of wine was strong on his lips.

"You said you would not take him from me," she said through her teeth and he merely grinned, glancing down at her lips and realization washed over her. "You do not mean to take him from me." She gathered and he shook his head slowly to confirm she was right. "You mean for me to come as well."

"It was the only way I could spend time with him," he said, his hand pulling her closer. "And you."

"He cannot leave White Harbor," she said firmly. "He is to be Lord and he cannot leave his seat unprotected just so his father can selfishly-" His grip tightened then and she could see the anger in his eyes.

"It is not selfish of me to want to know my son," he whispered, his eyes searching hers and she could feel her breath quicken.

"But it is selfish of you to leave White Harbor unattended. I am Lady Regent until he marries. Therefore it is my word that makes it final." He placed his lips against her neck and she heard a gasp escape involuntarily from her throat.

"My love," he whispered against her neck. "You know I am King. And as King, it is my word that is final." He pulled her legs so they were on either side of him and she could feel his desire for her through thin fabric they both were wearing.

"Your Grace," she whispered quickly, but the fierceness of her anger soon fizzled out at the end and her words simply ended up sounding like they were muttered in pleasure. His fingers traced up her back, and tangled in her hair and it took everything inside of her to keep her eyes from closing when his mouth closed over the curve of her jaw.

She hated the way her heartbeat quickened, the way chills appeared on every part of her when he nipped her earlobe and whispered completely uncomely things into it until she could no longer resist the urge to close her eyes and succumb the the feeling that was now rushing over her.

"Don't," she tried to say but she wasn't sure if it came out as a word or as a sigh.

Whatever it was it only caused him to move his hands underneath the hem of her nightgown and over the flesh of her thighs until she was pushing away half-heartedly, crawling off of him and pulling her robe shut as she leaned up against the mantle to catch her breath and hide her shame.

"He cannot go," she whispered once her breaths were steady enough to show that she was in control of her body and no longer under his spell. "Who will rule over White Harbor?"

He was standing behind her now, but she didn't dare turn to see. She could feel his fingers toying with the ends of her hair and she did her best to focus on the wooden trinkets on the mantle, to no avail.

"Bran and Wylla will stay in White Harbor," he whispered and she shook her head.

"Then who will rule your kingdom in your stead, if not Bran?" she argued, finally turning to see him drop his hand slowly at his side.

"Jon is Hand of the King and will act as regent in my stead," he said as if it were the simplest thing in the world. But she hadn't known that Jon was named Hand. "Bran is no longer my heir, Jon is."

Wynafryd hadn't thought about Jon Snow - now Stark - in years, she realized then. Jon had once been a man her father had intended her to marry when she was young. It was long before she had met Robb and all this foolishness had begun. She remembered being nearly sixteen when Ned Stark visited White Harbor with Jon, who was so nearly a man at seventeen. He planned to legitimize his bastard, something that was not at all unheard of in the Seven Kingdoms. But his untimely death left Jon a bastard and left Wynafryd without a future husband.

"And to think he and I were almost wed," she whispered, a fact that always made Robb Stark frown. "Can you imagine? Me married to the Hand of the King, a Prince of Winterfell. Then I could have called you brother."

"Don't," he was the one saying this time. He had always hated being reminded that Jon was very nearly Wynafryd's husband in his stead. Never Robb. She and Robb were never meant to be. And every time she brought that up, a deep frown would appear on his handsome features, just as it did now.

"Why must you do this?" she asked finally, referring to his plot to take them on a long journey abroad. "You will only make yourself more miserable when it all comes to an end."

"At least I will have had time with my son. That is something you never gave me," he said bitterly and she wanted to smile triumphantly, despite the guilt welling up in the pit of her stomach.

Good, she thought, seeing that he was pulled out of whatever lust-filled stupor he had previously been in. He turned from her then. His anger now apparent.

"Perhaps we will search for you a husband as well," he teased, though she could tell he was offended by his own words. At that she walked towards the door, letting out one more great laugh.

"Please do not jest, Your Grace," she said with a sour tone. "We both know that I will never marry. I will continue to age, grow ugly and wrinkled and become what everyone will see as an old maid," she told him and his frown deepened. "Because that's what you want for me isn't it?" she whispered, reaching for the door. "For me to remain this way until the grave?"

She didn't give him a moment to answer, leaving him to watch as she walked out, and although she felt very triumphant indeed, the feeling lasted for only a moment. Which each step that followed, the guilt rose up again as she thought of his face and she knew her words had hurt him.

And now any hope of sleep had vanished as she knew she would be haunted with her words and the feeling of Robb's lingering touch on her skin.

* * *

A/N: I find this story is so easy to write. I'm not sure why, but I just absolutely adore writing this right now, especially Wynafryd who I know almost nothing about from the books. But I just had the urge to move forward in the future and write about something that was a little different rather than the war. Hopefully you guys enjoyed this update. Thanks, as always, for the much appreciate feedback. xoLola


	3. Chapter 3

**Undone**  
**By LolaStark**

* * *

**|| Chapter Three ||**

She liked the feeling, she decided, the feeling of the harsh winter wind piercing her skin as he blew through her hair, turning her cheeks a vibrant shade of pink. She didn't mind the small degree of discomfort it caused as it swept over her flesh. It was a distraction, a way to help numb the other part of her that was dangerously close to surfacing against her will.

She looked out over the field from her place on the hill and watched as Robb ran, laughing that deep laugh of his with a wide grin, Grey Wind following them gleefully. She could see his breath in the cool air as little Cat and Fiona chased after him. It was much too cold for a picnic, she had told him, but the blizzard had made them all stir crazy and she had lost the argument when Robb had offered they play in the snow and the children were out the door before she had a chance to protest.

So there she sat, wrapped up in grey furs and pink cheeks as she and Weylyn worked on sculpting the perfect merman made out of snow. It wasn't quite perfect, she noticed. The tail was strangely small and the torso was strangely large. But Weylyn was happy with it, so therefore she was as well.

"Mother," he said quietly, knowing no one would overhear them over the howl of the wind and she glanced down at him and his worried eyes.

"Yes, love?" she asked, tracing lines through the snow to create the merman's beard.

"Are you angry with me?" he asked cautiously and she paused her movements, her concentration broken and she frowned.

"What ever would I be angry with you for?" she asked and he looked down at his feet, something he always did when he was feeling guilty. "Wey?"

"I knew if I'd asked you first, you would have said no and, oh I don't know, I guess I just thought-" he stammered and she then realized what he was referring to. "If I am to be Lord of White Harbor, I should make decisions for myself, right? You taught me that."

"Yes, I did didn't I?" she said with a small smile.

Her son was no longer a boy. He was young, yes, but already she could begin to see the reflection of a man in his eyes. It was a frightening thing, her child becoming a man. Because as much as she liked to deny it, Robb's words rang in her head that one day, perhaps, Weylyn would leave her. And she would be utterly alone.

"Is it wrong that I want to know him?" he whispered and she placed her gloved hand over his cheek.

"Of course not. You have every right to," she said quietly. "But you also have a responsibility to him as your king. No one must know, remember."

He nodded because he did understand now that he was the bastard son of a king. He was no just some lowborn bastard that people could easily overlook. If word got out about Weylyn's true parentage, he would no longer have the normal life Wynafryd had hoped for him. Instead he would be a spectacle, a bargaining chip. And most importantly, he would not longer be hers.

"Why didn't you-" he started and the stopped. "Nevermind."

"Why didn't I stay with him?" she asked, knowing that was what he'd been ready to say himself.

He looked up at her with his blue eyes and she felt her heart break ever so slightly. She looked back out over the field to see Roslyn had joined the girls and Robb was standing with his eyes up towards the two building the merman.

"I would have given anything for you to have grown up knowing your father, Wey. But I made a sacrifice," she said slowly, her eyes still on Robb and she imagined she was finally telling him the truth about that day. But what was the truth anymore, she wondered. "To be with him would have meant he would never have become the king he is today. The kingdoms didn't just need a king, they needed him. It was his destiny. And being with me would have ruined that for him."

"But you would have been happy," Weylyn whispered and she turned to look at her son.

"Sometimes, my love, there are more important things," she told him, leaning down to kiss him on the forehead. When she tried to step away he grabbed her hand in his.

"If you do not want to go, I will tell the King that we will stay here," he told her and Wynafryd squeezed his smaller hand in his own.

"No darling," she said with a grin. "You are always asking about my adventures. It's time you had some of your own."

Weylyn would have been disappointed had his mother asked to stay in White Harbor. He had always wanted to leave the city and travel across borders, see the other kingdoms. When the king had offered him passage to the Free Cities, he knew his mother would say no. And in that moment he'd been angry with her. Who was she to keep him from his father, he thought. But soon after he'd accepted the man's offer, Weylyn felt the guilt welling within him. His mother had given up a lot to give him a good life and he was scorning her for it.

And now as she looked down at him, her pale eyes so full of love, he knew despite whatever had happened between her and his father, that she had done it selflessly. Out of love for the both of them.

And he knew there had never been a woman who was a better mother than she.

* * *

The festival at White Harbor was by far the biggest celebration in the Northern Kingdoms, aside from the King's name day. Visitors traveled from the Vale, the Riverlands and even Pyke to celebrate with tournaments and festivities.

Wynafryd had always enjoyed the festival as a child. Then it had been substantially smaller as the North and the rest of Robb's kingdoms were still, at the time, part of the Seven. She remembered meeting Robb as a child, a boy with big dreams and sparkling eyes, as she recalled. Wylla had her eyes set on him then and Wynafryd had only laughed.

What use were boys, she thought then, when she had plenty of books and dreams to keep her company. Boys only teased her for her plainness and laughed when she couldn't swing a sword. But to her, it was just as well. She'd rather have an intelligent conversation with the highborns she'd meet and they'd admire her maturity for such a small thing.

She was fond of those memories, a time of peace before the war.

Now years later, as she walked through the booths and vendors she thought of how different things were then, including herself. She had once been a more spirited girl in her adolescence. It had been during the long summer when the festival had been held, and she had only been a girl of fifteen.

Robb had been elsewhere during that summer, but Ned Stark had brought his bastard, Jon Snow, to visit House Manderly. Her father had welcomed them both into his home and, upon hearing Ned's plan to legitimize Jon as his son, Wynafryd's hand was offered to him as a fine way to merge their families.

Jon had been a quiet boy, quite timid in his temperament and that suited Wynafryd just fine. He was seventeen and a handsome young man. But mostly she found that he did not boast in her presence nor did he try to impress her with his skills and finery. He would do well enough, she thought. If she had to marry, why not to man who would not force her to be something she was not.

"Milady," a man said, one of Robb's guards who had been following her and she spun around quickly to see him bowing before her, which was of course unnecessary and only made people stare at the two of them curiously.

"What is it Thomas?" she asked kindly, pulling her cloak around her as the wind blew.

"It is Her Grace, the Queen," Thomas said then and she frowned.

"Yes, and pray, what does Her Grace desire?" Wynafryd asked, trying not to sound as impatient as that woman made her feel.

"She wishes to speak with you, there in that tent," he said, his voice low and Wynafryd sighed and then nodded.

"Very well," she whispered, lifting her skirts. "Do watch over Weylyn. Do not let him wander too far from the festivities. Those boys are always getting into trouble if they're not looked after," she advised and Thomas nodded with a grin.

"Yes, milady."

Wynafryd walked with a lack of immediacy in her steps. She was in no hurry to see Roslyn, already knowing what the woman would say since they had yet to speak anything other than pleasantries upon her arrival only a week prior. The tent was filled with coals that were meant to keep the room warmer than the harsh climate outdoors but Wynafryd found the whole room quite stifling.

"Lady Manderly," Roslyn said from her corner, her light brown hair tied neatly in a ribbon over her shoulder, touching the fine silks of her cloak.

"Your Grace," Wynafryd said, curtseying for her with as much enthusiasm as she could muster.

She approached the queen with some reluctance but stood at a distance that made her feel as though neither would take another step and would remain steadfast as were their demeanors. Roslyn was four years her junior and had those pretty young features on her delicate face that reminded Wynafryd of years gone by. But still Roslyn had that smile played upon her lips, the smile of a woman who knew much more than she was letting on.

It was Roslyn's business to know everything. And if she didn't, she made it her business.

"I was told, you required my presence," she said offhandedly and Roslyn smiled.

"Yes well we haven't had a spare moment to speak, what with you being so preoccupied," Roslyn said, sitting down by the coals and wrapping her furs about her. "I've heard a great deal about a certain Lord Cerwyn who shares your bed." Wynafryd looked away.

"Yes, well not all of us are confined to the marriage bed as of yet," she replied in a joking manner and Roslyn giggled slightly in a manner that Wynafryd found surprisingly girlish for the queen at her age.

"My husband takes great care in assuring your marriage is a happy one, I do wonder if he would finally agree to have you married off to a man like Lord Cerwyn," she pondered in faux ignorance. "Should I speak to our dear Robb about it?" she asked and Wynafryd shifted at the sound of the King's name.

"I am sure your husband has much more pressing matters at hand, My Queen," Wynafryd said. She reached for a goblet from the table and took a sip of the wine. The liquid soon warmed her stomach and the more she drank, the warmer she began to feel.

"Pray tell me, Wynafryd, which matter do you think is more pressing - his finding out about his bastard son or his asinine plan to shuffle us off to Essos as if we are one happy family?"

"Roslyn," Wynafryd whispered, annoyed at the girl's tantrum but she held up a hand to silence her.

"You had one task, Wynafryd," Roslyn said disappointedly. "You assured me he would never find out about Weylyn, that you would use whatever means you had to keep him from asking questions."

"And you, My Queen, assured me he would not set foot in White Harbor until Weylyn was of age," Wynafryd argued. "You told me he would not come here. I've done my duty to you. I have made sure that Weylyn has been away during every visit of the King's. How was I to know that he would walk in on us."

"Yes, that is the other matter I wished to discuss," Roslyn said, standing and grabbing a goblet of her own. "If you are no longer bedding my husband, as I can safely assume due to his frustration as of late, then pray tell why was he in your chambers that night to begin with."

"You know as well as I do, Roslyn, that your husband knows no bounds."

Roslyn seemed to consider this for many moments as she paced the room, looking at Wynafryd as if she were a disapproving mother. Wynafryd could only sigh and sip from her goblet until it was emptied and she was left with a humming in her veins that made her feel more at ease than she had the moment she'd stepped in the tent.

"He's been irritable. He pines after you and I can no longer stand the lovesick look in his eyes. It's foolish and I won't stand for it. How is he supposed to rule a kingdom if you let him continue on like this. A miserable king makes for a miserable ruler. If you can no longer satisfy his needs, then I will find someone else who will."

"Oh spare me your threats, Roslyn. I am not your whore," Wynafryd said boredly.

"No, you are_ his_ whore!" Roslyn snapped and then stood up, realizing her mistake as she attempted to compose herself. "You started this, all those years ago. If it hadn't been for you, he might be happy enough with me, at least enough that my only worry would be which whores he was fucking in his chambers. But instead he fell in love with you and you discarded him. I will forever curse the day you left Robb Stark because it was then that I met my hell."

"I did what was right," Wynafryd said, defending her actions steadfastly though she didn't feel as though she should once again have to.

"Yes, noble Wynny always doing what was right for her dear sweet king," Roslyn tease sourly. "Should you have married him, I would have my own life, with my own husband. Not one I have to share with you."

"I reject his advances Roslyn, it is not my fault you cannot keep him in your bed."

It was then that Roslyn slapped her hard across the face. The sting of it was harsher than it might have been if it weren't so cold. There would be a mark, assuredly, but Wynafryd did not care. It was not the first time Roslyn Stark had slapped her and it would most certainly not be the last. It was then that Wynafryd smiled triumphantly and Roslyn looked away from her

"Your sister is with child," Roslyn said, still looking away. Wynafryd's eyes widened.

"Impossible," she whispered, breathlessly but Roslyn's look was not one of jest. "We were sure Bran was impotent."

"And yet she has his child in her womb," Roslyn answered.

"Why has she not told me? Does the King know?"

"No, he does not. She has told no one as of yet, perhaps Bran but otherwise it has been a close-kept secret of hers. I assume she plans to tell us all at the feast tomorrow. It was my midwife who told me that Wylla had ordered her to her chambers late one night." Wynafryd was speechless. Suddenly Wylla's change in temperament was explained. The contempt her young sister once felt for her was now shattered with the possibility of motherhood and Wynafryd was no longer the villain.

"If it is a boy-" Wynafryd speculated and Roslyn nodded.

"Yes, you see my concern as well. Robb has yet to have a son of his own and Jon is as of yet still unmarried. If Wylla bears dear Brandon a son then Robb will begin to wonder more about your sweet Weylyn. And that I will not have."

"Perhaps you should bear your husband your own sons and he will no longer worry over mine," Wynafryd said darkly. "I will not give up Weylyn, as I promised, but you also promised me you would give the king an heir so it would no longer be a concern. Robb will not seek out Weylyn if he has his own trueborn son to rule when he dies."

"You think I have not tried?!" Roslyn hissed. "He will not have me because I am not the perfect Wynny Manderly. He wants you, and you will not have him. Where does that place me?"

Wynafryd was not sure what to say to ease the girl's mind because when it came down to it, the queen was right. So long as Wynafryd resisted Robb the way she was, he would never run back into his wife's arms. She knew the way to hurt him, how to break his heart but she was not sure if she could go down that road again. But she knew she couldn't give up Weylyn and if Wylla had a son, Robb's legacy would be lost.

"I will work on getting you a son, Your Grace, and in the meantime, it wouldn't hurt for you to try your hand at sharing your husband's bed," Wynafryd said, placing her empty goblet back on the table. "I did go through all the trouble of preparing it for the both of you."

And with that she bowed her head and made for the tent flaps, immersed herself back into the cold air that felt oddly refreshing. She was overwhelmed by information, by choice. She had wanted to ride Robb from her life so many times but the thought of actually doing it seemed to be something entirely different. Countless times she had told herself that there was a life to be had away from Robb Stark. That if she could only find love again then she could find happiness. But was there love to be had or had she already missed out on that part of her life the day she'd walked away from it all those years ago.

She walked for many moments, Roslyn's words playing over and over in her mind until she felt a small hand grasp hers. At her side was little Cat Stark with her big blue eyes and despite Wynafryd's disdain for smiling, she couldn't help but feel the corners of her mouth turn upwards. The girl was smiling from ear to ear though her nose was pink from the chill.

"Lady Wynafryd!" she said through her grin. "I've been searching for you everywhere."

"My dear!" Wynafryd said enthusiastically, kneeling at the girl's level. "Where is your sister?" she asked, searching around and seeing Catelyn standing nearby with a grin that read of fondness for her granddaughter. Grey Wind, too, had followed, nudging her hand with his snout and Wynafryd slid her fingertips over her old friend's fur as he liked.

"Fiona is with papa," she said. "He said I could come find you, that you'd dance with me."

"Dance?" Wynafryd asked with a laugh. "I am starting to think your father lives to ensure that I embarrass myself," she told the young girl and stood back on her feet without letting go of Cat's hand which was tightly gripped around her own. "Well then, come with me and I will teach you, as best as I can, all the steps to the dance of 'the Mermaid Queen.' Do you know that one?"

The girl shook her head as they walked and Wynafryd told her the story of the Mermaid Queen, a common fable of House Manderly. She and Wylla had heard all the stories from their septa as girls and while Wynafryd soon traded the stories for her history books, she would not forget the adventures and romances she'd memorized as a wide-eyed child like Cat.

And for a moment, she forgot all about Roslyn and Robb, and only thought of innocence.

And a time long before it had disappeared.

* * *

The candlelight was flickering beneath the door that he stood outside of. He could hear the laughter on the other side and his name in dramatic tones that told him Wynfryd was telling another one of her stories, only this time, it was about him.

He smiled at the thought, that Wynny was no longer ignoring his presence as if he had never existed. The other voice belonged to Weylyn, his son and the boy who looked so much like him though had his mother's laugh, the rare and distinguishable burst of real laughter that Wynny displayed only when she was truly happy. It was very clear that Weylyn was her only source of happiness in this life she lived near the sea.

He remembered a time when he was the one who made her happy, made her laugh like she was now but as open and freely as she wished. Those times had happened so long ago he sometimes wondered if they were real or not. He wondered if those nights he spent holding Wynny close to him, her dark hair covering his pillow and her warm skin against his chest. He sometimes thought, as he walked the corridors, of Winterfell, that he could smell the perfumes of her hair or the sweet scent of her skin.

But as soon as he would smell it, it would be gone just as if it was never there and he began to doubt if he'd ever known it at all. But the moment he'd held her, tasted her mouth, the first night in White Harbor, he'd remembered it like they'd never been apart. He had memorized her then, always afraid that every time would be the last time he would get to hold her the way he did, or kiss her perfect mouth as it frowned.

"He sang to them?" Weylyn's astonished voice said and Robb was pulled back to the story that Wynny was telling, the one of the battle that won the Vale for the Kingdoms. And he grinned at the memory.

"Yes," Wynny said. "We were at each other's throats, most of the Northmen were ready to abandon the cause thinking the Vale was never going to loosen its reign and they were tired. They wanted to go home. But the rest of us, people like me, wanted to stay and fight. I remember the night so clearly, we were all shouting by the fire and I swear I had my sword drawn on the Blackfish when we all heard this voice above the crowd." Robb felt his cheeks flush at the memory. It still embarrassed him to think of that moment. "It was an atrocious rendition of the Northern Festival song but it did well enough that we all were silent and taken aback. It wasn't but a few moments before the lot of us were laughing, holding our sides as our king sang on."

"Then it worked," Weylyn said, with a chuckle. "He won their attention and then won the Vale."

"Yes, the men said if their king was willing to make a fool of himself to see that they stayed and fought, it was the least they could do to stay on a bit longer. And as it turned out, a bit longer was all we needed. And well, you know the rest. The Vale is part of the Kingdoms now and everyone still calls that day, the Battle of the Wolf's Song."

The two laughed for several more moments before letting it die down and when no more words were spoken, Robb finally took the opportunity to knock, as he had meant to long before the story had started and another had ended.

"Enter," Wynny's voice said and Robb walked in to find the two lying on the bed, Wynny lying on her back with Weylyn's head on her stomach.

"Your Grace," Weylyn said quickly, his eyes wide as he sat up and stood, bowing to Robb who looked over his son's features and tried to memorize them as he did Wynny's. "I shall see myself out," he said then and Robb placed a hand on his shoulder before the boy reached the door.

"Please," he said softly. "It is the both of you I came to see," he admitted and Weylyn looked more pleased than surprised as he stood there, looking up at Robb, waiting to hear what news his king had brought.

Robb glanced to a now sitting Wynny who pulled her nightgown up over her shoulder where it had fallen and he did his best to ignore the milky flesh that had given him a fleeting look before it was again hidden underneath linen and lace.

"I came to apologize, to you Wynny for speaking to you the way I did regarding my plans for Essos, as if you had no say in the matter. And to you, Weylyn, for assuming you would come just because I asked it of you."

"Your Grace I-" Weylyn started but Robb held up his hand.

"You must know, that I would never force you to come. The choice is entirely up to the both of you, and Weylyn, your mother should have a say as well. She knows what is best for you and if what is best is that you both stay in White Harbor, I can have no complaints other than I will be deprived of two great additions to my company," he said as boldly as he could muster and he didn't dare look at Wynny. Instead he kept his eyes focused on Weylyn who seemed to consider the words more than Robb had expected the young man to.

"Your Grace, I did do wrong by my mother in accepting your offer without her consult. Not only is she Lady Regent until I come of age, but she is also my mother and I trust her advice. We have spoken about it and have both agreed that we would be honored to join you on your journey." He had a way with words, much like Wynny and not unlike Robb either. He was formal in his presentation and held his hands behind his back as he explained his answer and Robb felt very proud of the boy that stood before him.

"Then it is settled, the three of us well endure many adventures of our own, adventures that will rival those of your mother's," Robb teased and Weylyn laughed.

"I can only hope so, Your Grace," Weylyn replied, bowing his head and then walking towards the door.

He looked back only once, staring towards Robb with a glance that made Robb feel as though he'd done the boy so many wrongs in such a short time. And yet they hardly knew each other and he wondered if he would ever be able to make up for something he had never intended.

"He admires you, Your Grace," Wynny whispered from her place on the bed as the door shut behind Weylyn and for the first time since he'd spoken he looked into her eyes, those pale orbs that haunted him night and day. "He talks about nothing else when we are alone."

"And I hear that you indulge him with stories of our adventures?" Robb said, his steps towards the bed slow as he contemplated standing still but could not help but feel drawn in towards her as he watched her shift and her gown fall back down her shoulder slightly.

"Eavesdropping?"

"It is hard not to hear that laughter of yours ringing through the corridors," he teased and a hand flew to her mouth in embarrassment. "I wish you would laugh more Wynny. I missed the sound of it."

"I daresay there is not much to laugh about these days," she told him with a shrug. He sat down next to her, the bed large and covered in the furs he'd sent and he ran his hands over them gently. She, too, traced patterns in the furs until the seconds passed and their fingers found each other.

"Those things I said-" he whispered, looking down at her hand touching his and she hushed him.

"What you said was very kind, Your Grace," she said quietly. "You did not have to apologize. You were within your rights to do what you did. No one was harmed."

"I did not wish to speak to you that way, to insult you or threaten you or even coerce you into traveling with me," he explained to her. "You were very angry with me and perhaps that was my intention at the time but-"

"I am always angry with you, Your Grace. I do not know what it means not to be angry with you. You ought to know that after all these years," she told him with the corner of her mouth raised and he looked up into her eyes.

"I much prefer when you are happy," he whispered. "That is what I want above all."

"And to know your son," she added and it was his turn to smile.

"Being King does have it's perks sometimes. I can have it all if I wish to," he teased, then his smile faded and his face turned serious. "But your happiness, Wynny. If you are not happy, how am I to live with myself?"

"You have managed all these years," she said, looking away. "I daresay you should do well to continue hereafter."

"I saw you with Cat today," he told her and her eyes seemed to flicker for a moment, as if her facade were ready to fall. "You looked happy then, dancing and smiling. She adores you."

"She is a sweet child, very much like you in your youth," she said fondly. "I did not want to disappoint her with my scowls."

"You don't have to lie to me," he insisted. "She has a great affect on everyone she meets. Do not be ashamed that you felt happy where everyone could see."

"He makes me happy, you know," she admitted. "Weylyn is my happiness and I am reluctant to admit the reason for that is because he reminds me so much of the man I met all those years ago. You and I were so very young then."

Robb was very pleased by her words and he let her know it as he grabbed her hand in his. He was surprised when she did not let go, though she did not seem to react at all as she sat there, staring at the fire, whose light danced off the milky flesh of her exposed shoulder. He couldn't help himself then as he kissed that spot with his lips, lingering over it for many long moments before he could look back up at her where their eyes now met.

Her face was close now and Robb could smell the sweet wine on her breath as she stared down at his lips and grasped his hand. He could tell she didn't realize what her hand was doing then. She would be too busy telling herself over and over that she was not to budge one inch. That was how Wynny operated. She thought things through so hard that her body was already reacting before she could tell it not to. In a way, he loved that about her. Another part of him, disliked that she would pull back, ashamed once she finally realized how her fingers traced over his as they intertwined.

He leaned in slowly, his eyes connected with hers and pressed his lips to hers lightly for only the shortest instant before separating them. It took her many seconds to finally breathe and she had already begun grasping his hand then as it shook. He gripped it tightly, unwilling to let it go though she would no doubt push him away at any moment, reminding him how much she hated him. He leaned in once more, though this time she stopped him with a simple whisper.

"Wylla is with child," she whispered, her breath warm against his lips. It was a phrase that felt like cold water on his flesh. He could not find his breath, nor his words. "She is to have Bran's child. A son perhaps."

"She has told you this?" he said, his whisper barely audible as he processed her words.

"Your wife has told me," she corrected and Robb began to wonder when and how Roslyn had spoken to Wynny without his knowledge. "Wylla has told no one, but she will no doubt announce it soon. My sister has hated me for the last three years and now she glows and smiles as if I had never married her off against her will."

"But we were sure-"

"I thought so too," she interrupted softly. "She and Bran had been together so long, I just assumed we had our answer. I assumed I condemned my sister and now - now she is going to have a child."

Robb looked away as he thought over this revelation. On one hand, he wanted to be happy for his brother and his wife. He wanted to bless their news and welcome it joyfully. But he knew he could not. He knew that while he loved his brother and had hoped beyond hope that he would have a legacy to pass on, the other hand dreaded the day Bran had a son.

Jon was still unmarried and had no motivation to marry as of yet. He had only recently become Robb's heir and should anything happen, Robb knew Bran's child - if a son would pass on the Stark name. It was not a terrible fate, he thought. But still his people looked to him to have an heir. He had heard the whispers. If a king could not have a son, then perhaps he is not meant to be king after all.

But he did have a son, he thought. He had a strong, healthy son who knew of responsibility and duty.

"How do I remedy this?" he asked her, her advice the only thing he wanted to hear but she simply sighed.

"You must find your wife's bed tonight, give her a son to raise. Give her a prince to bear your name and let all of this speculation be done."

"You have already given me one and to me that is enough."

"But it is not enough for your Kingdoms. You shame your wife by legitimizing your bastard and you will also shame her family and the people who love her. Your subjects who believe she is your true love will not bow down to a king's bastard."

"My subjects know I lost my true love many years ago. They have not forgotten"

"Weylyn is not the answer, Your Grace," she told him, placing a hand on his cheek. "Go to your wife's bed. She wants to bear you a son."

"There is only one woman I wish to share a bed with," he told her, kissing her palm.

"You know very well that my bed is occupied," she whispered, pulling her hand away and Robb felt that gut-wrenching feeling rise up in his stomach that he'd felt several times since he'd found out Cley Cerwyn was Wynny's lover. "It is time that you found a reason to love Roslyn. She is the mother of your children. Isn't that reason enough?"

"You are the mother of my son, Wynny," he snapped. "You are the woman I wanted to spend my life with, to raise children with. Not her. Never her."

"Our lives were not meant to intersect, though of course I am glad that they did. However, it is our duty to move on with our lives. I have been trying for fourteen years to move on but so long as you come here and say these things to me-"

"I will never give up on us, haven't you learned that by now?" he asked her, stroking the side of her face and she frowned.

"Go to her. Give her a son and let it be done," she told him, standing quickly and walking over to the window.

She glanced out into the blackness and Robb saw a look in her eyes, for a flash of a moment that he had never seen before. For a moment she was not the angry woman who proclaim to hate him. She was the woman he knew and loved and for that second, she loved him too.

"Wynny?" he said, a concerned furrow in his eyebrow as he approached her. "Are you, jealous, is that what you're angry about?"

"Ha," she scoffed. "Jealous of what? A miserable marriage? Do you think I envy that woman whom you never touch. Seven Hells, Robb! She is a woman, touch her! Do you think we are all unfeeling and desireless? That only men lust for love making?"

He wanted to answer her question, tell her that she was wrong about Roslyn, so very wrong about that woman who he was bound to. If she only knew that he could not stand to be in Roslyn's presence as she paraded around her lovers one by one for all to see. His queen knew Robb's love for Wynny and to punish him for it, she would not relent in ordering young knights to her bed chambers.

But he could not think of that then. He could not explain that when all he could hear was his name on her lips, for the first time in years and he could not be restrained as he lifted her into his arms. Her name shouted off his lips in uninhibited and raw and he could hear everything she hid from in, just in the way it rolled of her tongue.

He had barely laid her down on the bed before he crashed his lips into hers, their bodies pressed firmly together as he lay atop her small frame. He felt her fingers laced through his hair as she responded to his lips on her jaw, then her neck and finally down to her now exposed breast as her nightgown fell. He heard her gasp again as he let his tongue flick over the pink nipple before he grabbed it gently between his teeth.

"Robb," she moaned and he felt a sound escape from his throat as well at the sound of her pleasure.

He reached beneath her nightgown, the soft linen moving out of his way as his hand sought out her thighs and then her backside as he squeezed it in his hands. His fingertips grazed lightly over her center, her desire pooling for him as he traced over her most sensitive places, watching her as she writhed in pleasure her chest heaving and her nippled hardening.

The moment he placed his mouth over her wetness she cried out urging him to stop with a tone that deceived their meaning. _No_, she cried out though it sounded only like the yesses he had heard so many times before. The _we can't_ came second as his moved his tongue in the way she had described to him years before and it only sounded like a plea to continue.

But he did stop as she begged and the look of disappointment in her eyes as he did only made him smile.

"I do not mean to stop, my love, until you are ready for me to make love to you," he whispered, kissing her inner thigh and she shook her head. "No? You wish for me to leave you like this then?"

He saw her try to nod, everything inside of her telling her to run from him before she could no longer refuse. But his lips on her thigh would not let her and he watched the conflict in her head as it played out on her beautiful blushed features, her face pink and her lips bruised. Suddenly waiting for her reply was becoming harder and harder the longer he watched.

He moved so he was once again on top of her, brushing the hair from her face that was dampened with a thin layer of perspiration and he looked down at her seriously, their eyes meeting as she opened them.

"I do mean to make love to you, Wynny," he said, his voice gruff and her fingernails dug into his arms as she wrapped her hands around them. "I do not mean to leave you like this for Cley to find. You are mine Wynny, you do know that?"

She frowned, a pretty frown that made him kiss her, knowing what she would say before it even left her lips.

"I belong to no one," she whispered defiantly and he entered her then, watching her eyes turn from anger to passion all at once.

And in that moment, he knew as her legs wrapped around his hips and they shared in their passion together as they had so many times, that perhaps this woman did not belong to him, but he would always belong to her.

And without her, he was undone.

* * *

A/N: I hope you enjoyed! Thanks for reading and I will have the next chapter up as soon as possible. xoLola


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